The Beginning the Middle and the End
by phantom and potter Obsession
Summary: Discontinued unless requested to continue
1. Chapter 1

I reached to the back of the cage, had to make sure none of my ribs were cracked, they hurt like nothing that can ever be described. I froze when I felt my hand brush- a rope! I turned my hooded face to make sure my mind was not playing tricks on me-but it was really there! Enlightenment struck me. Ropes could kill! I looked around, and yes- he was there, the source of my misery, the one who profited from my deformed face. He sat on the floor of the cage, grubbing on the ground for the coins made at my expense!

The rope was around his throat before I had even decided to do it. I was not strong- thirteen years of lying in a cage will not make anyone overly muscular- but I had rage and a thirst for revenge on my side. "Let them laugh at your face, your _dead _face!" I hissed, cutting off his windpipe, so he could not get the air to breathe. He struggled, then collapsed, dead. I looked up, and a chill went through my spine. A girl, slightly older than me, was staring through the bars in horror. She had witnessed the entire scene. I thought I recognized her as one of the children from some theater that had come to see the fair- but had she been one of the rare people who didn't laugh at my defect?

To my shock, she did not call for the police. Instead, she pulled the cage door open, grabbed my arm, and began to run. I was unaccustomed to running, but I stumbled along after her, the little monkey, the only toy I had ever owned clutched in my hand. We raced through the streets, her gracefully, me struggling to keep up.

"What is your name?" she asked as we tore through a narrow alley.

"E-Erik," I stammered. No one else had ever asked. No one else had ever cared. I had always just been the freak, the spawn of the devil-

My thoughts were interrupted; she was speaking again. "Hide in here," she commanded, pushing me through a grate in the wall of a building. "They'll be looking for you. This place is beneath the Opera House where I live; you'll be safe there. I'll find you when things quiet down."

Her name was Monique Giry, and I came to be her friend as I spent the first four years beneath the opera house. I tried to enjoy it, but while it was better than my previous life, the rooms beneath the house where cold and damp, especially the ones I carved for myself in my spare time. However, I soon discovered that one thing overcame all of that. The music…

The music was compelling; it filled my mind with melodies and harmonies; tunes and sections. I soon began to sing the songs that I easily memorized, but I was not complete. I was missing something.

I was now seventeen. Monique came to visit when she could, but she had recently had a child, a daughter named Meg, who took up most of her time. I was so lonely. Without thinking, I unconsciously took a sheaf of paper and a pen, and allowed the notes and rhythms to flow from my hand.

I looked at the score several days later, after days of endless writing, with no sleep and little food, because the lure of the music was so possessive that I could not put it down! It seemed to me that the music had a life of its own, that it called to me, told me I would write more, much more music, create more of the ultimate beauty! I was alive. I was seventeen and at last, down in the dank, gloomy cavern, I had found a true calling, an inner light.


	2. The Phantom is born

_ACK! I'm so sorry, I missed the disclaimer last chapter! Don't kill me!_ Disclaimer: I own none of this! Only the plot and Monsieur Ane belong to me!

I began to wonder: What if I made my presence known? I had now lived for seven years in the catacombs of the theater, yet no one except Monique knew that I existed. I knew that the Opera House was being run poorly, because I knew opera. I had now written several dozen operas, and I could tell from decreasing sales that the place was suffering from bad management. I had to do something! An idea came to mind. Oh yes, a wonderful, devious idea! I began to write, not my usual music, but a letter.

_To Monsieur Ane, the manager of the Opera Populaire,_

_I bid you welcome back from your vacation. You will be disappointed to learn that the Opera Populaire is doing very poorly under your instruction. This is why I will be taking over the management of the theater. You will always leave box five empty for me, so that I can see the progress of my Opera House. For the work I am doing, I shall require a salary of a round twenty thousand francs a month. If these commands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur_

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

Yes, that would do. I saw no reason to use my real name. O.G. would stand for Opera Ghost. Sinister enough. I wondered briefly if I should wait for Monique to come and then ask her to give them the note, but no, who knew when Monique would come again? There where dozens of passages to different rooms in the theater. I knew them all, seeing as I had built most of them. I glanced at my clock; it read 12:07 AM. I knew everyone should be asleep, and thus risked sneaking through a passageway to slide the note under a door. I paused, and then grinned. I coincidentally had a skull seal and red wax. Why not use that as my mark? I marked the note, and went to place the note into the box reserved for the managers alone.

Monique came down the next afternoon, after the practice. I had been composing, and had no idea how it had gone. Judging by her face, I assumed that the note had been read. Her face was firmly set to appear angry, but I knew that she was trying not to laugh.

"Erik!" she snapped, managing to sound stern all the same. "What do you call this?"

I looked at her, my face a mask of innocence. "What do I call what, Mummy?" I asked her in an innocent, never did anything wrong little boy voice. She knew full well that I knew what she was talking about. "What have I done wrong?"

"Explain- this- letter!" she gasped, surrendering to whoops of mirth.

"Oh, that," I said, hanging my head mockingly. "Well you see, I get very, very bored down here, and I think Monsieur Ane is a jackass, and I can run the theater better than he can so…" I looked up cheerfully, "… I am going to run the theater!"

"Funny. Oh well, it was a laugh. You should have seen Monsieur Ane's face. 'An Opera Ghost? Preposterous! I shall run my theater as usual! No prank will offset me!' It was hilarious!"

"Funny? I'm dead serious Monique," I told her. "Well, he has decided not to take me seriously. What havoc should I wreck on him?"

"Erik no!" Monique gasped, shocked. "Erik, this is all a very good joke, but punishing Monsieur Ane?"

"Why not? Let me see…" my voice trailed off.

"Erik-" she broke off, not meeting my eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"You wouldn't kill again would you? I mean, you did before…" her voice died out and she looked at me pleadingly.

"That was different. He deserved it," I said tightly. "This is going to be minor. Trust me. Oh I know exactly what to do!" I started to laugh. It was hilarious.

"Oh, I have to go!" gasped Monique. "I'll see you later. That trouble had better be minor, or else…"

"Yes mummy," I said meekly.

Practice the next day. I grinned evilly as I snuck over to the stage overhang. The cast was working on an opera that was reasonably directed, but it would have to be interrupted for dramatic purposes. "**So. I hear you decided to ignore my commands!**" I boomed through a tube that amplified my voice.

Everyone stared up in shock. "Ah-ah- keep going, keep going!" blustered Monsieur Ane.

"**Ah, but should they? Is this particular opera run the way it should be? Or is it in need of instruction?**"I called through the tube, struggling to control my laughter.

By now Monique was the only one who wasn't staring around in petrified terror. "**Very well. _This _opera is satisfactory. I give you one last chance to reconsider following my commands. Remember, the Phantom of the Opera is always watching, and he always wins…**" It was hysterical. People were staring around in fear, their mouths hanging open. I laughed at last, making it maniacal to add to the effect. If they thought I was insane, it would give me a better image. I retreated back to my cavern. "This should be interesting," I whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N-If I owned Phantom and crew, Erik would be mine and Raoul would be 6 feet under. Aka I don't own it.

And so the years passed. Time melted into time. Monsieur Ane retired, and the naieve Monsieur LeFavre took over the opera. This suited me rather well. Monsieur LeFavre was _much _more compliant than Monsieur Ane. I received my salary and box, as well as having a say in all the matters.

The one stain on the opera house was a certain Carlotta Gudicelli. Carlotta was a vain young woman, well aware of her position of Prima Donna, which she lorded over everyone else. I was certain that there was a promising child here who could grow under my tutelage and push Signora Gudicelli out of the Prima Donna space.

I found just such a child as I prowled the passages in the walls one night. I heard a child crying. "Papa, you promised to send me the Angel of Music when you were gone," the brown haired girl sobbed, "but that didn't mean you had to go _die. _Why did you leave me Papa?"

She was merely speaking, but her voice! Such quality! I had found my student. I had seen the girl, a Miss Christine Daae, but she'd never stood out somehow. An angel of music, hm? That could be to my advantage. The wall was thin enough. I knew the girl could hear me well enough if I projected my voice. "Christine," I called, loud enough for her to hear over her own quiet sobbing, "do not fret. Your father is very happy in heaven, and he has sent me to you. I am the Angel of Music."

I could barely see her through the ornamental holes in the wall, but I could tell her face had lit up. "Angel! You're really here to teach me?" she asked.

"Of course! What else would I be here for? Christine, your father said you are a beautiful singer. Please sing the b-flat scale so I can judge for myself."

And so she sang. I was pleased with the find. Her soprano voice was smooth and clear, not overdone like that self-satisfied soprano… Lord I hated that—that—well it's not such a pleasant thing to call someone, what I thought. I turned my thoughts back to my new pupil. "Very good. A little overdone at the end, it's just a scale remember! Sing it again."

This was the first of many voice lessons with Christine. I scarcely marked the passing of time, thus it was a shock when I glanced out at her one day, and saw not the slightly pudgy and youthful child, but a beautiful young woman. My heart gave an odd lurch as I looked at her, which I attempted to put aside. "Sing the aria from the second first Christine," I instructed, and she launched into the beautiful song titled 'Think of Me', from _Hannibal._

Well, that was the day when Monsieur LeFavre signed over the opera house to Monsieur Firman and Monsieur Andre. The foppish men were very into business and pleasure, with no feel for music, I could tell that at a glance. Naturally they wanted to hear the Prima Donna sing. I smirked. Well, I could arrange for them to witness her retirement from the theater.

It was all I could do to keep from plugging my ears as she began mutilating the beautiful aria Christine has sung just that morning. Instead I took my anguish out on the ropes of the scenery. Buquet, the drunk who ran scenery, was nowhere in sight, as usual.

I cannot truly describe the victorious feeling that remained in me as the diva screamed, yelled at the new managers, and quit. Of course, she'd quit many times before, but never the day of an opera. She'd be back of course, but in Christine's shadow. Monique knew my mind as well as I did, she'd see to it that Christine held the spotlight tonight.

The Opera itself went smoothly, without mishap, and far better than had Signora Gudicelli been singing. It is the gala that occurred afterwards… maybe things would have been different if not for the gala. Christine was in her dressing room when it happened.

I wasn't spying if that's what you think. Certainly not! I was just behind the wall of the dressing room, meditating, when matters slid down hill. A certain Vicomte, Raoul de Chagny, entered the dressing room to praise Christine. It appeared they had been childhood friends. I didn't like his forward manner. I could tell, just tell that he was interested in more than friendship. It made my blood boil over! I had to do something. For lack of anything else, I sang.

"Insolent boy! This slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant _fool,_ this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!"

She seemed scared as she answered. I comforted her, then opened the mirror. I had only ever allowed Monique into my lair, as my friend. I was allowing Christine, who I hardly knew into my home, opening up to her, something I had never done. Maybe she'd see past the mask, to the man. I reached out my gloved hand and she took it, her pale skin contrasting with my dark, covered hand.


	4. Authors note

Hey I know authors notes aren't really supposed to be whole chapters, I'm sorry I'll delete this at the next update. Any case, this is not my main fic, so the updates will be slow. I'm sorry it was almost a year in between chapters two and three, I'll do better than that I swear. Anyway, just be patient, if you like Circle of Magic read my fic on it, it's my main and will get updated more quickly.

-Kimberley.


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